


Slender, Beautiful Sherlock

by cuddlyharkness



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Established Relationship, I started to write smut, M/M, but then i didnt, came close though, sherly isnt quite the virgin in this i suppose?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 20:37:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2746184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuddlyharkness/pseuds/cuddlyharkness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has a habit of staring at Sherlock. But Sherlock likes to taunt John with perfectly casual loose buttons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slender, Beautiful Sherlock

One thing above all else that stood out about Sherlock Holmes was how his body was structured. Okay, so maybe it was only John who noticed it, but that didn't deter the army doctor's interest.

Sherlock has a very slim, sleek build. He had long limbs, but somehow he never teetered over the line to being lanky. His body never seemed to really gain or lose any weight, at least noticable, and his clothes always hugged his frame in just the right places. Honestly, there was never a day that passed without John wondering is that ivory complex continued beneath those clothes, as flawless as he got to see every day.

What got on the doctor's nerves the most was how casually the detective acted about John's staring, like his very intention for having those sleek, silk shirts buttoned only to his collarbone was to taunt him. Actually, knowing Sherlock, that probably was the reason.

Today was one of those days. Sherlock, his messy haired flatmate, was sitting in his esteemed spot in the seat across from John, his torso graced by the richly colored purple shirt he'd been given for Christmas last year by Mrs. Hudson. Oddly though, the shirt was buttoned up one less than usual. Polychromatic eyes, which seemed to so easily transition between deep greens and blue-grays, were staring idly at the screen of Watson's laptop, the artifical light illuminating perfect skin and casting shadows in a manner that only seemed to heighten Sherlock's form. 

In contrast, John was sitting across from Sherlock in the chair that had been deemed him own personal space, his eyes reading the same sentence time and time over as he stole glances at the detective. Perhaps Sherlock, in all his inhuman skills of observation, already knew John was staring. He wouldn't doubt it, but Sherlock had yet to say anything, so John merely continued his actions for what seemed to be hours.

"John, your staring is quite distracting," Sherlock finally said. So, he was right to assume the man already knew. Clearing his throat, the blonde man hid behind his paper. No doubt the detective was smirking, he could feel the gaze from behind the barrier.

"Pardon," John mumbled, taking a deep breath as he heard the laptop close. An audible "thunk" alerted the man that Sherlock had put the thing down rather roughly on the end table, likely scratching the furnishing.

"John, tell me, did you really think your looking was so discreet that I would not notice?" Long, slim fingers pluckked the paper from the army doctor's hands, tossing it to the floor and resulting in John being forced to face the man staring at him.

Even without computer light highlighting his skin, Sherlock was still a beautiful man. Definied features, such as high cheekbones and lips like a Cupid's Bow made his face almost godly. His eyes alert, observing----always, always observing, taking in each and ever detail as if it were their only purpose in life----were like beautiful torches, burning into John in the most pleasant of ways. 

Perhaps it was not John's place to say, but he certainly believe Sherlock Holmes was a man that even gods would be in awe of.

"I see....dialated pupils....and your hands are shaking, John. Your breathing became eratic, close to panting, even..." Sherlock spoke, his voice like smooth velvet, cascading over the army doctor like the silk shirt on the detective's body. 

Damn! He was smirking! 

Deduction, John thought, was the Sherlock form of seduction.

"My dear Watson, it seems you're aroused."

And like a rat in a cage, John was caught. Sherlock was the cat with its paw on his tail, and hurriedly the doctor of 221B tried to find an excuse. Some words, something to say, that would help him out of his current situation. Oh God help him, Sherlock was leaning towards him, and that gentle breeze created in the movement sent forth the scent of fabric softener, laboratories, and things that were so distinctly Sherlock right his way.

"Perhaps I am," John stated, watching the detective lift a single, ivory hand and motion for him to lean forward. Naturally, the blonde man did, his eyes helplessly fluttering closed as those pale, pink lips hovered mere inches away from his own. He could smell the tea they'd had earlier that morning on Sherlock's breath as the man spoke up once more.

"Meet me in the bedroom. Five minutes. Ask Mrs. Hudson for that 'do not disturb' sign, too." And at that, John was left to watch that beautiful, slender man walk the short trip to the bedroom, wink, and vanish behind the door.


End file.
